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“But it does. Doesn’t it? It always has. You can’t get over the fact that he would rather wait for me to climb the ranks than give you the position.” Fox was nearly laughing at the realization, the truth painted across his father’s face. “You truly are envious of his attention.”

He didn’t wait for his father to process his anger. He slashed forward with his sword.

His father brought the branding iron up just in time to stop the blade from lashing across his neck, but the tip still nicked him across the shoulder, drawing blood.

His father sneered. “You’d kill your own father? And for what? Dragon-filth? Did she sleep with you? Perhaps she truly is your whore.”

“I just enjoy the idea of killing you.” Fox was surprised by the truth behind the words. It was a relief to say them out loud.

His father’s mouth curled in a sneer.

Fox’s smile stretched as his father and he danced in sync with blows and parries, too many cycles spent training in the same army, trained by the same men, but he could see the sweat along his father’s brow and the hair falling from where it was perfectly tied up in a ribbon. This match would be won through endurance.

“You wanted me to be stronger, colder, crueler,” he said, emphasizing each word with a strike. “Don’t regret what you spent cycles beating into me now.”

“I never beat you. I trained you. I did the best I could with what I was given,” he said, lashing out with the branding iron hard enough to knock Fox’s blade back.

“I learned more from my time in the military than you ever taught me.”

His father sneered. “And that’s the problem.” With a feint and a jab, the iron hit hard into Fox’s ribs, the air stuttering out of his lungs. Before he could catch his breath, another hit cracked across his right hand, sending his blade clattering to the floor.

“You never learned anything from me.”

His father picked up his blade as Fox held his throbbing hand. He could already feel it swelling and knew at least one bone was broken.

“You should have been the one to die,” his father said, blade raised, pointed at Fox. “I will always hate Leon a little bit for saving your pathetic life.”

Fox tasted blood, teeth gnashing into his tongue as he stared up at his father. After all of the work he’d done, he was still not strong enough to beat him.

“You disgust me.” His father flicked his wrist, the blade slashing lightly across his cheek, drawing out a line of blood. “I should arrest you and let you be killed with the rest of your traitor friends, but I don’t think I will. I want to be the one to end your pathetic excuse for a life.”

A flash of movement behind his father caught Fox’s eyes. Sofia ran toward them a few yards away through the open door to the tunnel. Her eyes were wide as she took in the scene—him crouching weaponless at his father’s feet. In that moment, Fox wasn’t just angry for himself and everything his father had taken from him. He was angry for everything Sofia had lost by his father’s hand. He was angry for every Dragonborn and Dereyan alike that had been left helpless at the hands of a man who cared only for himself and his own pride.

His eyes move back to his father. He’d seen Sofia, too.

“Your bitch has come to watch you die.”

But Fox wasn’t going to die. Not at the feet of a man as weak as his father.

“No, she didn’t.” He kicked out, the sole of his boot connecting with his father’s bad knee. It was a dirty move—one his father would have berated him for. And one Sofia would be proud of. His father crumpled, lashing out with his blade even as his legs gave out, but Fox had already rolled to the side. Fox used the moment to bring his foot down on his father’s arm, grabbing the sword as it fell to the ground. His father rushed to grab the branding iron, bringing it across him as a shield, but Fox only sneered above him.

“You think your cruelty and hate make you strong, but that’s never been true strength.”

He kicked his father, sending him sprawling on his back with a grunt.

“And therewassomething you taught me. Never hesitate,” he said, sneering down at the man he’d tried so many cycles chasing after as if his pride meant anything. And then Fox moved. His sweeps anything but hesitant. There was no regret left. No fear. No guilt.

When his last hit had the branding iron spinning out of his father’s hands, he didn’t wait. He slid the blade hard and deep into his father’s chest, beneath the ribs and up like his superiors had taught him.

When he made the deadly strike, it wasn’t pride in his father’s eyes. Only disgust. It only would have ever been disgust. He could never be Leon. But it didn’t make Fox weak. This pathetic old man on the ground in front of him didn’t get to determine what made him strong. Not anymore.

“Goodbye, Father.”

CHAPTERFORTY-NINE

SOFIA

Sofia watched as the blade sank into the general’s chest. For only a moment, she regretted letting Fox finish the job. She would have enjoyed the feel of his blood between her fingers as she saw the light leave his eyes.